


Fire With Fire

by await_the_dawn



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Les Amis aren't going to take it anymore, Violence, combeferre gets beat up and that's too far for Enjolras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-25 12:03:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/952855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/await_the_dawn/pseuds/await_the_dawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off of this post on tumblr: http://rrevolutionaries.tumblr.com/post/60090341060/okay-no-but-modern-au-enjolras</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire With Fire

The rally had been going great until the police showed up. It was their largest yet, but no one had stepped a toe out of line. The Amis were all passing out fliers, keeping the crowd excited yet peaceful. As soon as the first police started trying to disperse them is when it went wrong. Someone got pushed just a little too hard, and in the wrong way, and they retaliated. The police showed far less sympathy then. They immediately started arresting people, not caring who in particular but trying to aim for any of the Amis.   
Enjolras had jumped down from where he had been giving his speech to join in the crowd, trying to get people to move away but reminding them to keep their fire. One of the cops of course caught up to him. He was hard to miss after all, blonde hair in a messy ponytail and bright red jacket making him an obvious target. They gripped his arm, twisting to force him to his knees, face calm despite the flair of pain. He was used to this. 

“So who is it this time? Is it Mark? I like Mark. He’s great. Got a great right hook,” Enjolras commented, keeping his snarky smile on his face as he stared defiantly up at them. He laughed as they forced his arms behind his back, feeling the handcuffs lock over his wrist. They force him up, half by his hair and half by his arm, shoving against the hood of a car. His head was turned so he had a perfect view of the crowd.

He could see them going around arresting at random, not even caring who anymore. There was Bahorel, breaking up a fight and narrowly avoiding one of the police, there went Jehan, grinning as he flitted through the crowd. Enjolras’ eyes continued to move, darting from person to person as he checked up on his friends. Where was… There. There was Courfeyrac, helping a girl up off the street and sending her on her way. 

The next person he saw was Combeferre. His friend hadn’t been doing anything, merely trying to convince a belligerent group to leave for their own good. Yet the police went for him. Out of that whole group. They chose Combeferre. Kind, gentle Combeferre, who wanted nothing more than for everything to end peacefully. One of them swung their baton at him, knocking him to the ground in surprise. He didn’t catch himself, falling right into the glass that had been underneath their feet. One of them planted their foot in his back, shoving him further into the glass despite his cry of pain, yanking his hands behind his back and cuffing them together.

He’s hauled up, glasses cracked and bent and blood staining the front of his clothes. He stumbles, and another one punches him in the face for no reason other than that he could. They roughly hauled Combeferre upright, Enjolras watching with a steely face, insides churning with anger. But he won’t give them the satisfaction. He’ll bide his time.

Soon they’re all at the police station, and Enjolras is in the same cell as Combeferre. He glares at someone until they move, making Combeferre sit down, which he does with a poorly disguised wince. Enjolras sits next to him, face unreadable by all the others in the room. Combeferre had his hand pressed into his side, which still seemed to be bleeding. Enjolras gently moved his hands, checking for glass and pulling out the piece he could see. He put his own hand over the wound, pressing down. 

That was how he stayed. Combeferre eventually fell asleep, leaning back against the wall, his wounds and the adrenaline driving him to exhaustion. But Enjolras was awake, staring blankly ahead as he plotted. They had gone too far this time. He was sitting in jail, his hand pressed against a wound in his best friend’s side. That was unforgiveable in his book. Morning came, and they were released. 

Enjolras blankly guided Combeferre out of the building, helping him into Joly’s car and getting in next to him. They went straight to Joly’s, where each of them worried over Combeferre. Enjolras stood at a window, staring out at the street until Courfeyrac approached him warily. He turned to look at his friend, his intent clearly written on his face.

The next day was their first act of violence. They were fighting fire with fire.


End file.
